Carlos Acosta And Friends…

What I know about dance could be written in its entirety on a stamp. Granted, because I have seen a bit courtesy of Phoenix, Matthew Bourne, DV8 and a few other groups, it would have to be a bigger than normal stamp but even still my dance knowledge isn’t so much peppered with holes as landscaped with gaping great chasms.

So it was very much with an open mind and the chance to learn that I joined the Missus to see Carlos Acosta And Friends at the Coliseum last night. For those in the know Acosta is the hottest and most innovative thing to hit dance since Rudolph Nureyev (it said that in the programme) and this show featured the Cuban dance wunderkind and several ‘friends’ from the Royal Ballet performing ballet from their favourite shows or to their fave music.

Sadly this made the first half in particular seem like the ballet equivalent of a Stars On 45 single. The dancing looked very impressive but because it was a grab-bag taken from all over the shop there was no narrative or thematic structure to follow and there was no chance to build the sort of emotional understanding that makes a dying swan seem like a thing of tragedy and beauty rather than a dancer’s party piece. And it felt like that for most of the pieces.

Even worse Acosta came on stage at one point in the first half wearing little more than a loincloth and the swooning and sharp intakes of breath from many of the women in my vicinity suggested we were now present at the posh version of an evening with the Chippendales. But fair play to the game old girls who reacted thus – at their time of life you wouldn’t have thought most of them had it in them…

The second half improved a little and the opening dance about two survivors from a holocaust done to a piece by Rachmaninov was quite moving, while two solo pieces, one to a Latin vesper and the other to Edith Piaf’s lament Non Je Ne Regrette Rien, were quite entertaining. And the final ensemble piece was pretty lively but you got the impression that this was little more than an evening for Acosta and his mates to do their star turns and show off.

Acosta may be a dance genius for all I know but I suspect his elevation to near-deity is certainly helped by the fact that he’s clearly a good-looking fella with a well-honed physique. And even though his jumping and twirling were certainly impressive and muscular, I’ve seen martial artists do similar feats of gymnastic brilliance so he wasn’t really all that.

And, to be brutally honest, for £65 a ticket I would have liked a little more than 90 minutes of the dance equivalent of performing seals doing tricks for fish.

But doubtless Brand Acosta will continue to roll on and he probably won’t be renamed Carlos Acosta-but-earna-fortune as seemed likely on last night's evidence…